THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


Tke  Path  of  Dreams 


GEORGE  MARION  McCLELLAN 


JOHN  P.  MORTON  &  COMPANY 

Incorporated 

LOUISVILLE,  KENTUCKY 


COPYRIGHT,  1916 

BY  GEORGE  MARION  McCLELLAN 
LOUISVILLE,  KY. 


CONTENTS 

Page 

The  Path  of  Dreams 1 

Daybreak 3 

To  Hollyhocks 5 

Spring  Dawn 6 

The  Ephemera 7 

The  Hills  of  Sewanee 8 

Hydromel  and  Rue 9 

Dogwood  Blossoms 10 

The  April  of  Alabama 11 

The  Bride  of  Nitta  Yuma 12 

A  September  Night 15 

The  Harvest  Moon 16 

The  Sun  Went  Down  in  Beauty 17 

Love  is  a  Flame 18 

The  Feet  of  Judas 19 

To  Lochiel 20 

To  Theodore 21 

In  The  Heart  of  a  Rose 22 

A  January  Dandelion 23 

A  Belated  Oriole 23 

Eternity 25 

A  Psyche  of  Spring 26 

May  Along  the  Cumberland 27 

The  Secret 28 

A  Serenade 29 

A  Butterfly  in  Church 30 

As  Sifted  Wheat 31 

A  New  Year's  Greeting  to  a  College  Senior 32 

Estranged 33 

A  Decoration  Day 34 


602171 

UB8AR7 


Page 

June 36 

Heart  Yearnings 38 

A  Faithless  Love 39 

The  Bridal  Wreath's  Lament 41 

Sustaining  Hope 44 

The  Woods  of  October 45 

Youthful  Delusions 47 

The  March's  Promise 49 

A  Meadow-Land 50 

In  Summer 51 

In  Memory  of  Katie  Reynolds,  Dying 53 

Lines  to  Mount  Glen 54 

The  Legend  of  Tannhauser: 

I    The  Venusburg 61 

II    The  Contest  of  Love  and  Song 66 

III    The  Pilgrimage  and  Staff 72 


The  Path  of  Dreams 


Sweet-scented  winds  move  inward  from  the  shore, 
Blythe  is  the  air  of  June  with  silken  gleams, 

My  roving  fancy  treads  at  will  once  more, 
The  golden  path  of  dreams. 

Along  the  sloping  uplands  yellow  wheat 
Is  bending  to  the  honied  breath  of  June, 

While  all  the  lowlands  slumber  at  my  feet 
This  glorious  afternoon. 

To  balmy  gusts  from  blue-girt  breezy  hills 
The  clover  blossoms  nod  with  graceful  art, 

And  all  the  mystery  of  living  thrills 
The  ever  pulsing  heart. 

A  boon  to  lovers  still,  the  sweet  wild  rose 
Adds  perfume  to  the  languor  in  the  air, 

And  whispering  Zephyr  scatters  as  she  goes 
Sweet  atters  everywhere. 

The  wild  birds  restlessly  from  tree  to  tree, 
Flit  ceaselessly  beneath  the  sunlit  skies, 

And  give  a  sumptuous  afternoon  to  me, 
In  song  and  gladsome  cries. 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


Blue  gauze  the  empty  distances  enfold ; 

The  stream-fed  glens  lie  bare  in  loveliness, 
And  waves  of  light  along  the  paths  of  gold 

The  glens  and  hills  caress. 

In  garish  light  the  rustling,  shimmering  corn, 
The  trembling  leaves,  the  passing  winds  caress, 

And  in  the  heart  a  subtle  throb  is  born 
Of  mighty  tenderness. 

Vague  yearnings,  tenderness  that  prompt  to  tears 
And  fill  the  heart  with  mingled  pain  and  bliss, 

Come  down  to  men  through  many  thousand  years, 
On  afternoons  like  this. 

What  is  there  in  the  vistas,  song,  and  flower, 
That  prompt  alike  to  happiness  and  tears, 

Unites  life's  scattered  visions  in  the  hour 
Of  past  and  present  years? 

Is  it  the  throb  of  life  on  soft  hill  slopes, 
A  thousand  passions  burned  to  fever  heat 

Spread  out  in  shimmering  glows  that  run  to  hopes, 
For  some  fulfillment  sweet? 

Some  half  fulfillment  yet  of  vanished  gleams, 
Of  vanished  promises  when  love's  wild  glow 

Made  fervid  youth  a  tenement  of  dreams 
Back  in  the  long  ago. 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


DAYBREAK 

Awake!  arise!  Oh,  men  of  my  race, 

I  see  our  morning  star, 
And  feel  the  dawn-breeze  on  my  face 

Creep  inward,  from  afar. 

I  feel  the  dawn,  with  soft-like  tread, 
Steal  through  our  lingering  night, 

Aglow  with  flame  our  sky  to  spread 
In  floods  of  morning  light. 

Arise!  my  men,  be  wide  awake 

To  hear  the  bugle  call, 
For  Negroes  everywhere  to  break 

The  bands  that  bind  us  all. 

Great  Lincoln,  now  with  glory  graced, 

All  God-like  with  the  pen, 
Our  chattel  fetters  broke,  and  placed 

Us  in  the  ranks  of  men. 

But  even  he  could  not  awake 

The  dead,  nor  make  alive, 
Nor  change  stern  nature's  laws  which  make 

The  fittest  to  survive. 

Let  every  man  his  soul  inure, 

In  noblest  sacrifice, 
And  with  a  heart  of  oak  endure, 

Ignoble,  arrant  prejudice. 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


Endurance,  love,  will  yet  prevail 

Against  all  laws  of  hate ; 
Such  armaments  can  never  fail 

Our  race  its  best  estate. 

Let  none  make  common  cause  with  sin, 

Be  that  in  honor  bound, 
For  they  who  fight  with  God  must  win 

On  every  battle  ground. 

Though  wrongs  there  are,  and  wrongs  have  been, 

And  wrongs  we  still  must  face, 
We  have  more  friends  than  foes  within 

The  Anglo-Saxon  race. 

In  spite  of  all  the  babel  cries, 

Of  those  who  rage  and  shout, 
God's  silent  forces  daily  rise 

To  bring  His  will  about. 

Our  portion  is,  and  yet  will  be, 

To  drink  a  bitter  cup 
In  many  things,  yet  all  must  see 

The  race  is  moving  up. 

Oh !  men  of  my  race,  awake !  arise ! 

Our  morning's  in  the  air, 
There's  scarlet  all  along  the  skies, 

Our  day  breaks  everywhere. 


THE     PATH    OF    DREAMS 


TO  HOLLYHOCKS 

Gay  hollyhocks  with  flaming  bells 
And  waving  plumes,  as  gently  swells 

The  breeze  upon  the  Summer  air ; 
You  bind  me  still  with  magic  spells 
When  to  the  wind,  in  grave  farewells, 

You  bow  in  all  your  graces  fair. 

You  bring  me  back  the  childhood  view, 
Where  arching  skies  and  deepest  blue 

Stretch  on  in  endless  lengths  above; 
To  see  you  so  awakes  anew 
Long  past  emotions,  from  which  grew 

My  wild  and  first  heart-throbs  of  love. 

There  is  in  all  your  brilliant  dyes, 
Your  gorgeousness  and  azure  skies, 

A  joy  like  soothing  summer  rain; 
Yet  in  the  scene  there  vaguely  lies 
A  something  half  akin  to  sighs, 

Along  the  borderland  of  pain. 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


SPRING  DAWN 

There  comes  to  my  heart  from  regions  remote 
A  wild  desire  for  the  hedge  and  the  brush, 

Whenever  I  hear  the  first  wild  note 

Of  the  meadow  lark  and  the  hermit  thrush. 

The  broken  and  upturned  earth  to  the  air, 
By  a  million  thrusting  blades  of  Spring, 

Sends  out  from  the  sod  and  everywhere 
Its  pungent  aromas  over  everything. 

Then  it's  Oh,  for  the  hills,  the  dawn,  and  the  dew, 
The  breath  of  the  fields  and  the  silent  lake, 

And  watching  the  wings  of  light  burst  through 
The  scarlet  blush  of  the  new  daybreak. 

It  is  then,  when  the  earth  still  nestles  in  sleep, 
And  the  robes  of  light  are  scarce  unfurled, 

You  can  almost  feel,  in  its  mighty  sweep, 
The  onward  rush  and  roll  of  the  world. 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


THE  EPHEMERA 

Creatures  of  gauze  and  velvet  wings, 

With  life  for  one  brief  day, 
Dancing  and  flitting  where  the  breezes  fling 

The  sweets  of  blooming  May; 
Skimming  the  stream  where  the  wild  thyme  grows, 

You  dart  with  keen  delight, 
Only  to  die  when  the  sweet  wild  rose 

Gives  perfume  to  the  night. 

Weary  at  last,  when  the  day  is  done, 

Of  the  breeze  and  clover's  breath, 
Folding  your  delicate  wings  with  the  sun, 

You  gently  drop  to  death ; 
Glimmering  wings  and  a  few  short  hours 

Were  yours  in  sweet  delight, 
Living  for  a  day  in  the  world  of  flowers, 

And  then — everlasting  night. 

Creatures  of  gauze  and  velvet  wings, 

With  a  day  of  gleams  and  flowers, 
Who  knows — in  the  light  of  eternal  things — 

Your  life  is  less  than  ours? 
Weary  at  last,  it  is  ours,  like  you, 

When  our  brief  day  is  done, 
Folding  our  hands,  to  say  adieu, 

And  pass  with  the  setting  sun. 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


THE  HILLS  OF  SEWANEE 

Sewanee  Hills  of  dear  delight, 

Prompting  my  dreams  that  used  to  be, 
I  know  you  are  waiting  me  still  tonight 

By  the  Unika  Range  of  Tennessee. 

The  blinking  stars  in  endless  space, 

The  broad  moonlight  and  silvery  gleams, 

Tonight  caress  your  wind-swept  face, 
And  fold  you  in  a  thousand  dreams. 

Your  far  outlines,  less  seen  than  felt, 
Which  wind  with  hill  propensities, 

In  moonlight  dreams  I  see  you  melt 
Away  in  vague  immensities. 

And,  far  away,  I  still  can  feel 
Your  mystery  that  ever  speaks 

Of  vanished  things,  as  shadows  steal 
Across  your  breast  and  rugged  peaks. 

O,  dear  blue  hills,  that  lie  apart, 
And  wait  so  patiently  down  there, 

Your  peace  takes  hold  upon  my  heart 
And  makes  its  burden  less  to  bear. 


THE  PATH  OF  DREAMS 


HYDROMEL  AND  RUE 

Lord,  let  me  live  to  serve  and  make  a  loan 

Of  life  and  soul  in  love  to  my  heart's  own. 
And  what  if  they  should  never  care  or  know 

How  dark  sometimes  and  weary  are  the  ways, 
How  piercing  cold  and  pitiless  the  snow, 

How  desolate  and  lonely  are  the  days 
Which  life  for  me  holds  sometimes  in  reserve? 

And  what  if  those  I  love  esteem  above 
Me,  others  all  untried  and  far  less  true, 

And  lightly  barter  off  my  wealth  of  love 
For  careless,  strange,  and  passing  comrads  new? 

Oh  Lord,  those,  whom  I  love,  I  still  would  serve. 

To  be  permitted,  once  in  this  short  life, 

To  hold  a  little  child  close  to  my  heart 
In  fatherhood,  as  mine,  is  worth  all  strife 

Which  circumstance  and  time  to  me  impart. 
To  know  the  bliss  of  chaste  and  holy  love, 

To  have  one  friend  to  even  half  divine 
My  hungry  heart,  is  heaven  from  above 

Come  to  this  ever-longing  soul  of  mine. 

And  so,  dear  Lord,  I  thank  Thee  for  the  cup 
Of  hydromel  Thou  givest  me  to  sup, 

Though  rue  and  hyssop  pass  my  lips  and  fill 
My  life  with  earthly  sorrow,  grief,  and  pain, 

In  faith  my  soul  will  rise  to  thank  Thee  still 
For  garish  day,  for  guerdon  and  its  gain. 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


And  though  through  time  insentient  clay,  the 

sward, 

My  erstwhile  form  may  hold ;  for  joy,  for  life, 
For  everlasting  love,  sunshine  and  rain, 

My  ardent  heart  above  all  earthly  strife, 
Unbound  in  space,  soars  up  through  joy  and  pain 
Triumphantly,  in  thanks  to  Thee,  dear  Lord. 

DOGWOOD  BLOSSOMS 

To  dreamy  languors  and  the  violet  mist 

Of  early  Spring,  the  deep  sequestered  vale 
Gives  first  her  paling-blue  Miamimist, 

Where  blithely  pours  the  cuckoo's  annual  tale 
Of  Summer  promises  and  tender  green, 

Of  a  new  life  and  beauty  yet  unseen. 
The  forest  trees  have  yet  a  sighing  mouth, 

Where  dying  winds  of  March  their  branches  swing, 
While  upward  from  the  dreamy  sunny  South, 

A  hand  invisible  leads  on  the  Spring. 

His  rounds  from  bloom  to  bloom  the  bee  begins 

With  flying  song,  and  cowslip  wine  he  sups, 
Where  to  the  warm  and  passing  southern  winds, 

Azaleas  gently  swing  their  yellow  cups. 
Soon  everywhere,  with  glory  through  and  through, 

The  fields  will  spread  with  every  brilliant  hue. 
But  high  o'er  all  the  early  floral  train, 

Where  softness  all  the  arching  sky  resumes, 
The  dogwood  dancing  to  the  winds'  refrain, 

In  stainless  glory  spreads  its  snowy  blooms. 
10 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


THE  APRIL  OF  ALABAMA 

Fair  Alabama,  "Here  we  rest,"  thy  name — 

And  in  this  stretch  of  oak  and  spotted  ash, 

Well  said  that  long  past  swarthy  tribe  who  came 

Here,  "Alabama,"  in  these  glamour  wilds. 

To-day  thy  April  woods  have  had  for  me 

A  thousand  charms,  elusive  loveliness, 

That  melt  in  shimmering  views  which  flash 

From  leaves  and  buds  in  half-grown  daintiness. 

From  every  tree  and  living  thing  there  smiles 

A  touch  of  Summer's  glory  yet  to  be. 

Already  overhead  the  sky  resumes 

Its  Summer  softness,  and  a  hand  of  light 

All  through  the  woods  has  beckoned  with  its  blooms 

Of  honeysuckle  wild  and  dogwood  white 

As  bridal  robes. 

With  bashful  azure  eyes 
All  full  of  dew-born,  laughing,  falling  tears, 
The  violets  more  blue  than  summer  skies 
Are  rioting  in  vagrancy  around 
Beneath  old  oaks,  old  pines,  and  sending  out 
Like  prodigals  their  sweets  to  spicy  airs. 
And,  as  to-day,  this  loveliness  for  years 
Unknown  has  come  and  gone.     To-day  it  wears 
Its  pageantry  of  youth  with  sylvan  sound 
Of  many  forest  tribes  which  fairly  shout 
Their  ecstacies.     But  soon  with  Summer  smiles 
Will  such  a  gorgeousness  of  flaming  hues 
Bedeck  these  Alabama  glamour  wilds 
As  ever  burst  to  life  by  rain  and  dews. 

il 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


THE  BRIDE  OF  NITTA  YUMA. 

Softly  the  cool  breath  of  the  early  morning, 

Swamp-scented  air,  fragrant  with  deep  lagoons 

And  water  lilies,  stole  on  through  the  fields 

Of  cotton,  whispering  a  sighing  song. 

'Twas  Sunday  morning  then,  and  everywhere 

The  May  dew  rolled  away  in  diadems. 

Another  day  was  born  with  floods  of  light; 

The  grass  with  newer  green  all  wet  with  dew 

Gave  welcoming.     And  rose  hues  spent  with  yesterday 

Found  blushes  still,  and  sent  out  night-born  sweets 

To  mingle  with  a  thousand  other  spicy 

Airs,  and  perfumes  of  the  jessamine, 

And  wild  aromas  of  the  Summer  air. 

And  murmured  low  the  sycamore  overhead 

With  whisperings  of  passing  Summer  winds. 

The  dapple  sunshine  gleamed  and  kissed  their  leaves, 

And  golden  gleams  were  on  the  fields.     Rich  were 

The  blackbird's  notes,  and  joyous  sounds  from  all 

The  feathered  tribes.     In  lazy  lengths  the  bayou  went 

With  stretches  on,  and  murmuring  low  songs 

Like  those  of  love.     There  floated  far  and  wide 

The  queenly  water  lilies — white,  perfuming 

All  the  Sunday  air. 

And,  like  a  dove 

Of  peace,  fair  Nitta  Yuma  sat  amid 
Her  spreading  figs  and  rich  magnolia  blooms, 
In  rest ;  for  there  was  come  the  hallowed  day, 

12 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


The  Sabbath  of  the  Lord.     The  church  bell  pealed 

To  far  plantations  for  her  worshippers. 

They  came  in  straggling  bands  through  cotton  fields 

And  shady  lanes.     Upon  their  faces,  young 

And  old,  was  seen  a  keen  expectancy, 

And  eagerness.     It  was  the  wedding  day 

Of  sweet  Alicia  Bell,  the  fairest  maid, 

And  most  beloved  of  all  the  country  side. 

And  when  the  preacher  called  the  happy  pair 

To  stand  and  take  their  vows,  no  costly  veil 

Resplendent  in  transparency  enwrapped 

The  dusky  bride,  nor  great  Cathedral  gleamed 

In  rich  mosaics,  nor  stately  pillars  carved, 

To  mark  the  elegance  and  luxury 

Where  come  the  great,  the  lordly,  and  the  rich, 

To  take  their  marriage  vows.     But  love  was  there 

And  hope,  and  youth,  to  guide  and  lead  them  forth 

To  their  new  world.     And  to  his  humble  home, 

With  whitewashed  walls,  the  bridegroom  led  his  bride. 

The  wedding  feast  of  simple  fare  was  theirs 

Alone.     Through  all  the  golden  afternoon 

They  took  their  bridal  tour,  still  hand  in  hand, 

Love  ever  leading  on,  through  cotton  fields, 

Along  the  bayou's  side,  until  their  feet 

Led  to  the  forest  old,  where  man  first  loved, 

First  wooed,  first  won  a  bride  and  made  a  home. 

Gently  the  spirit  of  the  ancient  forest 

Wove  her  magic  spell  around  them,  till, 

As  one,  they  had  no  further  need  of  speech. 

They  were  no  longer  twain,  and  on,  as  one, 

13 


Slowly  they  walked  through  the  fragrant  and  green 

woods — 

Woods  sun-stained,  and  peaceful,  where  all  nature 
Fused  her  mellow  beauty  into  one 
Harmonious  whole.     Softened  and  blended  colors 
Gleamed  in  vistas  and  in  open  glades ; 
Delicious  murmurs,  inarticulate, 
Soothing  all  the  senses,  crept  in  quiet, 
Even  undertones  all  through  the  forest, 
Whispering  primeval  memories, 
Primeval  mysteries  of  ages  past. 
Once  more  the  ancient  forest,  dim  and  silent, 
Throbbed  with  energy  and  unseen  life, 
Where  sunshine  fell  among  the  moist  ferns, 
Gleamed  on  silent  pools  and  altars  lost. 
Again  the  musty  fragrance  of  the  forest  mould 
Greeted  the  nostrils  of  fauns  and  dryads 
Unseen,  and  all  the  fairy  forest  lived 
Once  more,  commingling  with  their  murmurings 
The  past  and  present.     Here  primordial  love 
Walked  hand  in  hand  through  Paradise  anew. 


14 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


A  SEPTEMBER  NIGHT 

The  full  September  moon  sheds  floods  of  light, 

And  all  the  bayou's  face  is  gemmed  with  stars, 

Save  where  are  dropped  fantastic  shadows  down 

From  sycamore  and  moss-hung  cypress  trees. 

With  slumberous  sound  the  waters  half  asleep 

Creep  on  and  on  their  way,  'twixt  rankish  reeds, 

Through  marsh  and  lowlands  stretching  to  the  Gulf. 

Begirt  with  cotton  fields,  Anguilla  sits 

Half  bird-like,  dreaming  on  her  Summer  nest. 

Amid  her  spreading  figs  and  roses,  still 

In  bloom  with  all  their  Spring  and  Summer  hues, 

Pomegranates  hang  with  dapple  cheeks  full  ripe, 

And  over  all  the  town  a  dreamy  haze 

Drops  down.     The  great  plantations,  stretching  far 

Away,  are  plains  of  cotton,  downy  white. 

O,  glorious  is  this  night  of  joyous  sounds; 

Too  full  for  sleep.     Aromas  wild  and  sweet, 

From  muscadine,  late  blooming  jessamine, 

And  roses,  all  the  heavy  air  suffuse. 

Faint  bellows  from  the  alligators  come 

From  swamps  afar,  where  sluggish  lagoons  give 

To  them  a  peaceful  home.     The  katydids 

Make  ceaseless  cries.     Ten  thousand  insects'  wings 

Stir  in  the  moonlight  haze  and  joyous  shouts 

Of  Negro  song  and  mirth  awake  hard  by 

The  cabin  dance.     O,  glorious  is  this  night! 

The  Summer  sweetness  fills  my  heart  with  songs, 

I  can  not  sing,  with  loves  I  can  not  speak. 

15 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


THE  HARVEST  MOON 

The  dark  magnolia  leaves  and  spreading  fig 
With  green  luxuriant  beauty  all  their  own, 
Stirless,  hang  heavy-coated  with  the  dew, 
Which  swift  and  iridescent  gleams  shoot  through 
As  if  a  thousand  brilliant  diamonds  shone. 
Afloat  the  lagoon,  water-lilies  white 
In  sweets  with  muscadines  perfume  the  night. 
A  song  bird  restless  chants  a  fleeting  lay; 
Asleep  on  all  the  swamp  and  bayou  lies 
A  peaceful,  blissful  moonlight,  mystic  haze, 
A  dreaminess  o'er  all  the  landscape  plays, 
While  lake  and  lagoon  mirror  all  the  skies. 
There  is  a  glory  doomed  to  pass  too  soon, 
That  lies  subdued  beneath  the  harvest  moon. 


16 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


THE  SUN  WENT  DOWN  IN  BEAUTY 

The  sun  went  down  in  beauty 

Beyond  the  Mississippi  side, 
As  I  stood  on  the  banks  of  the  river 

And  watched  its  waters  glide ; 
Its  swelling  currents  resembling 

The  longing  restless  soul, 
Surging,  swelling,  and  pursuing 

Its  ever  receding  goal. 

The  sun  went  down  in  beauty, 

But  the  restless  tide  flowed  on, 
And  the  phantom  of  absent  loved  ones 

Danced  on  the  waves  and  were  gone ; 
Fleeting  phantoms  of  loved  ones, 

Their  faces  jubilant  with  glee, 
In  the  spray  seemed  to  rise  and  beckon, 

And  then  rush  on  to  the  sea. 

The  sun  went  down  in  beauty, 

While  I  stood  musing  alone, 
Stood  watching  the  rushing  river 

And  heard  its  restless  moan ; 
Longings,  vague,  intenable, 

So  far  from  speech  apart, 
Like  the  endless  rush  of  the  river, 

Went  surging  through  my  heart. 


17 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


The  sun  went  down  in  beauty, 

Peacefully  sank  to  rest, 
Leaving  its  golden  reflection 

On  the  great  Mississippi's  breast; 
Gleaming  on  the  turbulent  river, 

In  the  coming  gray  twilight, 
Soothing  its  restless  surging, 

And  kissing  its  waters  goodnight. 


LOVE  IS  A  FLAME 

Love  is  a  flame  that  burns  with  sacred  fire, 
And  fills  the  being  up  with  sweet  desire ; 
Yet,  once  the  altar  feels  love's  fiery  breath, 
The  heart  must  be  a  crucible  till  death. 

Say  love  is  life ;  and  say  it  not  amiss, 
That  love  is  but  a  synonym  for  bliss. 
Say  what  you  will  of  love,  in  what  refrain, 
But  knows  the  heart,  'tis  but  a  word  for  pain. 


18 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


THE  FEET  OF  JUDAS 

Christ  washed  the  feet  of  Judas! 

The  dark  and  evil  passions  of  his  soul, 

His  secret  plot,  and  sordidness  complete, 

His  hate,  his  purposing,  Christ  knew  the  whole, 

And  still  in  love  he  stooped  and  washed  his  feet. 

Christ  washed  the  feet  of  Judas! 

Yet  all  his  lurking  sin  was  bare  to  him, 

His  bargain  with  the  priest,  and  more  than  this, 

In  Olivet,  beneath  the  moonlight  dim, 

Aforehand  knew  and  felt  his  treacherous  kiss. 

Christ  washed  the  feet  of  Judas! 
And  so  ineffable  his  love  'twas  meet, 
That  pity  fill  his  great  forgiving  heart, 
And  tenderly  to  wash  the  traitor's  feet, 
Who  in  his  Lord  had  basely  sold  his  part. 

Christ  washed  the  feet  of  Judas! 

And  thus  a  girded  servant,  self-abased, 

Taught  that  no  wrong  this  side  the  gate  of  heaven 

Was  ever  too  great  to  wholly  be  effaced, 

And  though  unasked,  in  spirit  be  forgiven. 

And  so  if  we  have  ever  felt  the  wrong 
Of  trampled  rights,  of  caste,  it  matters  not, 
What  e'er  the  soul  has  felt  or  suffered  long, 
Oh,  heart!  this  one  thing  should  not  be  forgot: 
Christ  washed  the  feet  of  Judas. 

19 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


TO  LOCHIEL 

Dear  little  babe,  of  all  born  things  alive, 
Most  helpless  thou — of  life  a  slender  thread. 

Can  such  as  thee  so  rough  a  sea  survive, 
And  come  at  last  the  way  all  feet  must  tread? 

Yea !  by  the  God  whom  I  adore  above, 
If  I  could  fix  thy  destiny  by  choice 

Thou  wouldst  be  safe,  my  little  love. 

'Tis  Love  ineffable  I  wrap  thee  in 

To  pitiless  pain,  and  ache,  and  storm,  and  blast, 
I'd  bare  my  soul  to  save  thy  feet  from  sin, 

And  bring  thee  safely  home,  Lochiel,  at  last. 
But,  in  thy  chancing  boon  of  birth,  thy  whole 

And  everlasting  destiny  of  life 
Lies  in  thy  self-directing  soul. 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


TO  THEODORE 

Such  are  the  little  memories  of  you ; 

They  come  and  go,  return  and  lie  apart 

From  all  main  things  of  life ;  yet  more  than  they, 

With  noiseless  feet,  they  come  and  grip  the  heart. 

Gay  laughter  leading  quick  and  stormy  tears, 

Then  smiles  again  and  pulse  of  flying  feet, 

In  breathless  chase  of  fleeting  gossamers, 

Are  memories  so  dear,  so  bitter-sweet. 

No  more  are  echoes  of  your  flying  feet. 
Hard  by,  where  Pike's  Peak  rears  its  head  in  state, 
The  erstwhile  rushing  feet,  with  halting  steps, 
For  health's  return  in  Denver  watch  and  wait. 
But  love  and  memories  of  noiseless  tread, 
Where  angels  hovered  once,  all  shining  fair, 
To  tuck  you  in  your  little  trundle  bed, 
Kneel  nightly  now  in  agony  of  prayer. 

Feb.  22,  1916. 


21 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


IN  THE  HEART  OF  A  ROSE 

I  will  hide  my  soul  and  its  mighty  love 

In  the  bosom  of  this  rose, 
And  its  dispensing  breath  will  take 

My  love  wherever  it  goes. 

And  perhaps  she'll  pluck  this  very  rose, 
And,  quick  as  blushes  start, 

Will  breathe  my  hidden  secret  in 
Her  unsuspecting  heart. 

And  there  I  will  live  in  her  embrace 
And  the  realm  of  sweetness  there, 

Enamored  with  an  ecstasy 
Of  bliss  beyond  compare. 


22 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


A  JANUARY  DANDELION 

All  Nashville  is  a-chill !     And  everywhere, 

As  wind-swept  sands  upon  the  deserts  blow, 

There  is,  each  moment,  sifted  through  the  air 

A  powered  blast  of  January  snow. 

O  thoughtless  dandelion !  to  be  misled 

By  a  few  warm  days  to  leave  thy  natural  bed 

Was  folly  growth  and  blooming  over  soon. 

And  yet,  thou  blasted,  yellow-coated  gem! 

Full  many  hearts  have  but  a  common  boon 

With  thee,  now  freezing  on  thy  slender  stem. 

When  once  the  heart-blooms  by  love's  fervid  breath 

Is  left,  and  chilling  snow  is  sifted  in, 

It  still  may  beat,  but  there  is  blast  and  death 

To  all  that  blooming  life  that  might  have  been. 


A  BELATED  ORIOLE 

Gay  little  songster  of  the  Spring, 

This  is  an  evil  hour, 
For  one  so  light  of  heart  and  win^ 

To  face  the  storms  that  lower. 

December  winds  blow  on  the  lea 
A  chill  that  threatens  harm, 

With  not  a  leaf  on  bush  or  tree 
To  shield  thee  from  the  storm. 


23 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


Why  hast  thou  lingered  here  so  late 
To  face  the  storms  that  rise, 

When  all  thy  kind,  and  yellow  mate, 
Have  sought  for  southern  skies? 

Hast  thou,  like  me,  some  fortune  ill 
To  bind  thee  to  this  spot? 

Made  to  endure,  against  thy  will, 
A  melancholy  lot? 

Chill  is  the  air  with  windy  sighs, 

A  prophecy  that  blows, 
Of  cold  and  inhospitable  skies, 

Of  bitter  frost  and  snows. 

But  there  is  One  whose  power  it  is 
To  temper  blast  and  storm, 

And  love  to  give  a  bird  is  His, 
And  keep  it  safe  from  harm. 

To  Him  thy  helplessness  will  plead, 

To  Him  I  lift  a  prayer, 
For  we  alike  have  common  need 

Of  His  great  love  and  care. 


24 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


ETERNITY 

Rock  me  to  sleep,  ye  waves,  and  drift  my  boat, 
With  undulations  soft,  far  out  to  sea; 
Perchance,  where  sky  and  wave  wear  one  blue  coat, 
My  heart  shall  find  some  hidden  rest  remote. 
My  spirit  swoons,  and  all  my  senses  cry 
For  ocean's  breast  and  covering  of  the  sky. 
Rock  me  to  sleep,  ye  waves,  and,  outward  bound, 
Just  let  me  drift  far  out  from  toil  and  care, 
Where  lapping  of  the  waves  shall  be  the  sound 
Which,  mingled  with  the  winds  that  gently  bear 
Me  on  between  a  peaceful  sea  and  sky, 
To  make  my  soothing,  slumberous  lullaby. 
Thus  drifting  on  and  on  upon  thy  breast, 
My  heart  shall  go  to  sleep  and  rest,  and  rest. 


25 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


A  PSYCHE  OF  SPRING 

Thou  gaily  painted  butterfly,  exquisite  thing, 
A  child  of  light  and  blending  rainbow  hues, 

In  loveliness  a  Psyche  of  the  Spring, 

Companion  for  the  rose  and  diamond  dews ; 

'Tis  thine,  in  sportive  joy,  from  hour  to  hour, 
To  ride  the  breeze  from  flower  to  flower. 

But  thou  wast  once  a  worm  of  hueless  dye. 

Now,  seeing  thee,  gay  thing,  afloat  in  bliss, 
I  take  new  hope  in  thoughts  of  bye  and  bye, 

When  I,  as  thou,  have  shed  my  chrysalis. 
I  dream  now  of  eternal  springs  of  light 

In  which,  as  thou,  I  too  may  have  my  flight. 


26 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


MAY  ALONG  THE  CUMBERLAND 

Embodiment  of  all  the  beautiful 
That  crowns  the  year,  O  May!  is  come  with  thee. 
For  miles  and  miles  along  the  rugged  hills, 
Where  in  and  out  the  Cumberland  must  wind, 
And  Spring  her  first  response  of  green  doth  find, 
A  rapt'rous  beauty  all  the  valley  fills. 
The  yellow  sun  with  Summer  at  his  heels, 
Betokeneth  the  time  about  to  be, 
Siestas,  days  and  nights  alive  with  wings, 
The  stirring  of  a  million  living  things. 

The  month  is  full  of  roses,  perfumed  air, 

And  crooning  bees  upon  the  clover's  breast, 

The  morning  woodlands  ring  with  music  sweet ; 

The  zephyrs  whisper  to  the  corn, 

And  echo  back  the  hills  the  dinner  horn, 

But  all  in  tune  and  harmony  complete. 

In  blissful  self-abandonment  awhile, 

Here  on  thy  lap,  sweet  May,  O!  let  me  rest, 

And  dream,  and  dream,  till,  lulled  by  sight  and  sound, 

In  unison  to  all  the  earth  around. 


27 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


THE  SECRET 

Go,  whisper  to  her  gentle  winds, 

While  you  are  passing  by, 
The  mighty  secret  of  my  heart, 

The  burden  of  my  sigh. 

Take  to  her  from  this  blushing  rose 

Such  sweets  of  scented  air 
As  are  befitting  for  a  queen, 

And  one  divinely  fair. 

And  from  this  lily  of  the  vale 

Take  her,  who  is  to  me, 
The  emblem  of  all  that  is  good , 

And  sweetest  purity. 

The  violets  of  azure  eyes, 

Which  ever  sweets  impart, 
Take  her  their  gentle  modesty, 

So  like  her  guileless  heart. 

Take  all  the  sweets  which  you  can  find 

Along  your  airy  way, 
To  her  whose  face  and  daily  life 

Are  like  the  month  of  May. 

Blow  softly  on  her  lovely  brow, 

And  give  her  lips  a  kiss, 
The  thing  were  I  to  do,  O  winds! 

Would  count  a  wonderous  bliss. 

28 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


She  does  not  know  my  secret  flame, 

But  what  is  that  to  you 
Oh,  winds?  but  take  her  from  my  heart 

Its  mighty  love  and  true. 


A  SERENADE 

Dear  heart,  I  would  that  thou  couldst  know 
How,  like  the  burning  glow  of  Mars, 

My  love  here  keeps  a  watch  below 
Thy  window  and  the  midnight  stars. 

How  sweet  the  breath  of  night  is  now, 
Of  sweets  the  rose  and  jessamine  keep; 

Go,  winds,  with  these  and  kiss  her  brow, 
And  bear  my  love  to  her  in  sleep. 

Oh,  such  a  love!  that  loves  her  so, 

With  such  a  little  space  apart, 
Should  through  yon  open  casement  go, 

And  gently  stir  her  dreaming  heart. 

Dear  heart,  sleep  on  without  a  fear, 

If  all  unconsciously  to  thee, 
My  love  must  watch,  to  watch  so  near, 

Makes  even  that  a  bliss  to  me. 


29 


THE     PATH    OF    DREAMS 


A  BUTTERFLY  IN  CHURCH. 

What  dost  thou  here,  thou  shining,  sinless  thing, 
With  many  colored  hues  and  shapely  wing? 
Why  quit  the  open  field  and  Summer  air 
To  flutter  here?    Thou  hast  no  need  of  prayer. 

'Tis  mete  that  we,  who  this  great  structure  built, 
Should  come  to  be  redeemed  and  washed  from  guilt, 
For  we  this  gilded  edifice  within 
Are  come,  with  erring  hearts  and  stains  of  sin. 

But  thou  art  free  from  guilt  as  God  on  high ; 
Go,  seek  the  blooming  waste  and  open  sky, 
And  leave  us  here  our  secret  woes  to  bear, 
Confessionals  and  agonies  of  prayer. 


30 


THE     PATH    OF    DREAMS 


AS  SIFTED  WHEAT 

0  sift  me,  Lord,  and  make  me 

Clean  as  sifted  wheat ; 
My  soul,  an  empty  vessel,  bring 

To  my  Redeemer's  feet. 
However  sinful  I  have  been  or  be, 
Thou  knowest,  Lord,  that  I  love  thee. 

1  am  so  closely  hedged  about, 

Oh,  Christ!  as  thou  hast  been; 
My  soul,  hemmed  in  with  flesh, 

Is  so  in  love  with  sin. 

Sin  stained  am  I,  but  sift  me,  Lord,  complete, 
And  make  me  clean  as  sifted  wheat. 


31 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


A  NEW  YEAR'S  GREETING  TO  A 
COLLEGE  SENIOR 

Soft  winds  and  a  moving  tide 

May  bear  you  on,  I  pray, 
With  the  love  of  God  to  guide 

Through  the  year  to  your  B.  A. 

On  the  shores  of  heavenly  grace, 
Or  the  crest  of  the  ocean's  swell, 

May  the  smile  of  the  Father's  face 
Be  the  sign  that  all  is  well. 

In  storms,  whenever  they  rise, 
Cling  close  to  the  pilot  of  prayer, 

Keep  faith  under  blackest  of  skies 
That  the  love  of  God  is  there. 


32 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


ESTRANGED 

An  Autumn  sky,  a  pleasant  weather; 

The  asters  blossom  by  the  way ; 
We  two  between  them  walk  together, 

And  watch  the  ships  pass  on  the  bay. 

His  Summer  song  yet  to  the  clover, 
The  hovering  bee  still  murmurs  there, 

But  there's  that  tells  that  Summer's  over 
In  this  sweet,  dreamy,  Autumn  air. 

When  it  was  May  and  lovely  weather, 
And  ships  went  sailing  to  the  west, 

We  walked  this  path,  we  two  together, 
With  happy  throbs  of  heart  and  breast. 

The  Spring  was  young  and  hope  was  growing, 
And  love  went  idling  on  the  sand, 

And  there  was  blissful  overflowing 
Of  heart  in  touch  of  lip  and  hand. 

And  yet  the  bee  hums  to  the  clover 

Soft,  all  the  dreamy  hours  long, 
But  there's  that  tells  that  Summer's  over 

In  all  his  drowsy,  flying  song. 

An  Autumn  sky,  a  pleasant  weather, 
But  all  the  Summer  glow  is  changed 

Here,  where  in  love  we  walked  together, 
Before  we  two  were  so  estranged. 

33 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


A  DECORATION  DAY 

The  reign  of  death  was  there, 

Where  swept  the  Winter  winds  with 
pipes  and  moans, 

And,  stretched  in  silence  bare, 

A  colonnade  of  gray  sepulchral  stones. 

But  then  it  was  in  May, 
And  all  the  fields  were  bright  and  gay 

with  tune 
That  Decoration  Day, 

And  blossoms  wore  their  hues  and  breath 
of  June. 

A  motley  crowd  that  came, 

But  who  more  fit  than  they  that  once 

were  slaves, 

Despised,  unknown  to  fame, 
With  love  should  decorate  the 
soldiers'  graves? 

Black  feet  trod  cheerily 

From  out  the  town  in  crowds  or 
straggling  bands, 

And  flowers  waved  and  flaunted  merrily 
From  little  Negro  hands. 


34 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


And  far,  far  away 

From  home  and  love,  deep  in  a  silent 

bed, 
Beneath  the  sky  of  May, 

Was  sleeping  there,  in  solitude,  the  dead. 

But  for  the  hearts  that  day 
Who  in  the  distant  North  was  sore  and 

sighed, 
Black  hands,  with  sweets  of  May, 

Made  green  the  graves  of  those  who  for 
them  died. 


35 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


JUNE 

The  June  has  come  with  all  its  brilliant  dyes, 

Its  honeyed  breath,  its  balmy  gusts  and  sighs. 

In  fields  and  stretching  uplands,  glade  and  glen, 

And  by  the  high  and  lowly  haunts  of  men, 

With  all-surpassing  glory  bloom  the  flowers, 

And  come  are  sun-lit  skies  and  dreamy  hours. 

The  morning  earth  is  all  begemmed  with  dew, 

The  toiling  bee,  the  blissful  hours  through, 

Hums  softly  on  his  self-beguiling  tune, 

While  gathers  he  the  sweetest  sweets  of  June. 

Low  murmuring,  the  crystal  brooklet  leads 

Its  way  through  fields  and  lane  and  emerald  meads. 

The  clover  fields  are  red  and  sweetly  scent 

The  pasture  lands,  where  browse  the  kine  content. 

The  corn  is  swayed  with  breezes  passing  by, 

And  everywhere  the  bloom  is  on  the  rye. 

Already  on  the  bearded  wheat  is  seen 

The  gold  which  tempts  the  farmer's  sickle  keen, 

And  I  can  almost  see  the  gleaming  blade 

By  which  the  golden  grain  is  lowly  laid, 

And  hear  the  singing  scythe  and  tramp  of  feet, 

And  see  the  cone-shaped  shocks  of  gathered  wheat. 

All  shimmering  the  landscapes  far  and  wide 

Bespeak  fair  promise  for  the  harvest-tide. 


36 


THE     PATH    OF    DREAMS 


The  J  une  has  come  with  Summer  skies  and  glow, 

Reflecting  bliss  and  Junes  of  long  ago — 

Bare  feet,  and  careless  roving  bands  of  boys 

That  haunted  lake  and  stream  in  halcyon  joys, 

The  bow  and  arrow,  hunting  ground  and  snares, 

The  sudden  flight  of  quails  and  skulking  hares, 

The  wild  and  joyous  shouts  along  the  glen 

Come  back  in  all  the  month  of  June  again. 

Then  other  days  and  solitary  dreams, 

Are  come  again  with  flash  of  flaming  gleams, 

Where  red  birds  shot  across  the  opening  glades, 

In  quest  of  deeper  thickets,  deeper  shades. 

The  soft  sunshine  comes  down  aslant  the  hills, 

With  perfume  sweet  the  honeysuckle  fills, 

The  Summer  atmosphere  for  miles  around, 

And  all  the  groves  and  fields  are  sweet  with  sound. 

Soft  tinkling  bells  of  flocks  and  browsing  herds, 

The  rippling  streams  and  restless  twittering  birds, 

Unite  with  children's  voices  in  their  shout 

Of  mirth  and  joy  on  all  the  sward  about. 

A  nameless  charm,  a  bliss,  a  merry  tune 

Abideth  in  the  country  lap  of  June. 

While  hills,  and  woods,  and  vale,  and  grassy  slope, 

Are  teeming  everywhere  with  life  and  hope. 

The  brook's  low  murmuring  the  morning  through, 

Is  still  a  lullaby,  and  love  is  true, 

In  earth,  and  sky,  and  air,  in  dale  and  glen, 

For  all  the  changing,  faithless  sons  of  men. 

The  June  has  come  with  all  its  brilliant  dyes, 

Its  honied  breath,  its  balmy  gusts  and  sighs. 

37 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


HEART  YEARNINGS 

Oh !  for  the  welcome  breath  of  country  air, 

With  Summer  skies  and  flowers, 
To  shout  and  feel  once  more  the  halcyon 

Of  gayer  boyhood  hours. 
I  think  the  sight  of  fields  and  shady  lanes 

Would  ease  my  heart  of  pains. 

To  cool  once  more  my  thirst,  where  bubbled  up 

The  waters  of  a  spring, 
Where  I  have  seen  the  golden  daffodils 

And  lillies  flourishing, 
My  fevered  heart  would  more  than  half  forget 

Its  sighs,  and  vain  regret. 

Far,  far  away,  from  early  scenes  am  I ; 

And,  too,  my  youth  has  fled; 
For  me  a  stranger's  land,  a  stranger's  sky, 

That  arches  overhead. 
For  scenes  and  joys  that  now  have  passed  me  by, 

I  can  but  give  a  sigh. 


38 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


A  FAITHLESS  LOVE 

The  lovely  May  has  come  at  last, 
With  songs  and  gleaming  dews, 

And  apple  blossoms  bursting  out 
With  evanescent  hues. 

A  newer  life,  a  newer  charm, 

Is  bursting  every  hour, 
With  pledge  and  faithful  promises, 

From  leaf  and  bud  and  flower. 

And  hope  is  growing  on  the  hill, 

And  blooming  in  the  vale, 
And  comes  new  vigor  and  new  life 

On  every  passing  gale. 

But  O,  my  heart!  my  heart  of  hearts! 

What  hope  is  there  for  me? 
For  what  was  hope  and  what  was  joy, 

For  me  have  ceased  to  be. 

The  woodlark's  tender  warbling  lay, 
Which  flows  with  melting  art, 

Is  but  a  trembling  song  of  love 
That  serves  to  break  my  heart. 


39 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


Gay  flowers  burst  on  every  side, 

The  fairest  of  the  fair, 
But  what  are  these  to  any  heart 

That's  breaking  with  despair? 

O  May!  my  heart  had  found  a  rose 

As  lovely  as  the  morn, 
Which  charmed  awhile,  then  faithless  went, 

But  left  with  me  its  thorn. 


40 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


THE  BRIDAL  WREATH'S  LAMENT 

O!  woe,  ah!  bitter  woe  for  us, 

Who  did  the  foolish  thing, 
To  trust  our  folded  leaves  and  buds 

To  the  first  warm  sun  of  Spring. 

Up  from  the  lagoons  of  the  South, 
From  lake  and  flowers  about, 

Came  soft,  deceitful,  sighing  winds 
And  gently  called  us  out. 

They  whispered  strange  Floridian  tales, 

Of  bayous  and  the  brake, 
Of  Spring's  aroma  and  the  rose, 

And  bade  us  to  awake. 

The  sun,  so  old  of  many  Springs, 
Looked  down  on  us  and  smiled, 

And  all  our  foolish  swelling  buds 
To  leaf  and  flower  beguiled. 

We  rivaled  the  Japonicas 
Which  budded  half  in  doubt, 

But  reassured  by  southern  winds, 
Fast  sought  to  beat  us  out. 


41 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


And  O !  we  spread  our  leaves  and  buds 

Up  to  the  open  sky, 
And  looked  with  condescension  on 

Our  lagging  neighbors  by. 

Bedecked  in  all  our  finery, 

And  blind  with  foolish  pride, 
We  laughed  unconscious  of  our  doom, 

And  of  our  woe  betide. 

But  swift  and  stealthily  as  conies 

A  lurking  foe  at  night, 
Without  a  warning  note  swept  down 

A  storm  with  bitter  blight. 

Now  all  the  highway  and  the  plain 

Lie  covered  up  with  snow, 
The  sun  is  hid  and  leaden  clouds, 

Look  down  on  all  below. 

Deceitful  zephyrs  of  the  south, 

Where  are  your  kisses  now? 
The  snowflakes  make  our  winding  sheet, 

And  death  is  on  our  brow. 

But  soon  the  true  warm  Spring  will  come, 

And  violets  in  their  beds 
Will  bloom :  And  flauntingly  will 

Lift  the  tulips  up  their  heads. 


42 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


The  gladsome  Summer-time  will  come, 
The  Summer  winds  will  sigh, 

A  thousand  brilliant  flowers  will  bloom 
Beneath  a  Summer  sky. 

But  we,  O  vain  and  foolish  buds ! 

Who  did  the  foolish  thing, 
To  trust  our  folded  leaves  and  flowers 

To  the  first  warm  sun  of  Spring, 
So  premature  must  pass  away 
To  nothingness  for  time  and  aye. 


43 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


SUSTAINING  HOPE 

Farewell,  Dearest  and  Best! 
What  matters  it  whether  the  name  be  Dove, 
Dear-heart,  and  all  sweet  words  at  love's  behest, 

Since  none  can  voice  my  love? 

To  stay  is  past  my  power; 

Oh,  love,  my  own  Dear-heart,  farewell,  good-bye! 
For  thee  I'll  breathe  through  every  passing  hour 

A  fond  and  secret  sigh. 

But,  Dear,  though  it  be  long, 
This  hope  'mid  distant  scenes  and  fellow-men 
Will  lead  me  on,  in  solitude  or  throng, 

That  we  shall  meet  again. 


44 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


THE  WOODS  OF  OCTOBER 

The  last  sweet  blush  of  Summer  in  her  glory 
Still  lingers  in  October  woods  and  skies, 

But  changed  in  forest,  hills,  and  mountains  hoary, 
From  green  into  a  thousand  brilliant  dyes. 

The  cloudless  skies  a  restful  peace  betoken, 
The  Indian  Summer  broodeth  over  all, 

In  earth  and  everywhere  is  plainly  spoken 
A  placidness  which  only  comes  with  Fall. 

In  fields,  where  to  the  breeze  was  lately  swaying 
The  wheat  in  all  its  golden  beauty  seen, 

Are  flocks  and  herds  of  lazy  cattle  straying, 
And  feeding  on  a  second  growth  of  green. 

A  bee  is  seen  still  out  in  hope  of  finding 
A  blossom  in  the  second  growth  of  clover, 

But  nature's  law,  too,  on  the  bee  is  binding, 
His  harvesting  will  also  soon  be  over. 

A  few  more  days  of  Autumn's  hazy  gleaming, 
And  all  October  woods,  to-day  so  fair, 

The  very  imagery  of  death  in  seeming 
Will  stand,  dismantled,  naked,  bare. 


45 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


O!  who  would  think  that  all  this  beauty,  painted 

Upon  these  leaves  in  colors  clear 
In  every  brilliant  hue,  with  death  is  tainted, 

But  for  the  dying  lesson  year  by  year? 

That  lesson  let  me  learn  to-day  in  earnest, 
Which  thou  dost  teach  in  every  hue  and  dye ; 

Who  knows  but  when  thy  glory  here  returnest, 
Within  the  silent  grave  my  head  shall  lie? 

Farewell,  October  woods — soon  bleak  December 
Will  all  the  forest  wrap  in  spotless  snow, 

But  I,  forgetting  not,  shall  still  remember 
Thy  glory,  which  to-day  delights  me  so. 


46 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


YOUTHFUL  DELUSIONS 

And  where  now,  restless,  wilt  thou  roam, 

Thou  young,  uneaseful  heart? 
'Tis  better  far  to  stay  at  home, 

So  young  a  stripling  as  thou  art. 

And  thinkest  thou  to  go 
Abroad  to  taste  the  sweets  of  life, 

And  miss  its  lurking  woe? 

Yea,  doubtless  thou  wouldst  find  a  bliss 

Of  honey  sweet,  awhile, 
And  many  a  love-born,  smothered  kiss, 

Unknown  to  thee  erstwhile. 

And  of  a  thousand  hues 
Would  blossoms  give  the  morning  sweets 

With  honey-dabbled  dews. 

And,  all-believing  heart  and  young, 

Thou  wouldst  unfold  thy  best 
To  faith,  and  laugh  till  thou  wert  stung 

With  poison  in  thy  breast. 

Then  who  would  be  thee  nigh, 
So  far  from  home,  to  heal  thy  pain 

And  soothe  thy  bitter  cry? 


47 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


'Tis  best,  by  far,  to  stay  at  home, 

Dear,  over- trusting  heart; 
None  but  a  prodigal  may  roam 

So  far  from  love  apart. 

Doubt  not,  abide  thy  day, 
And  what  is  best  for  thee  to  have 

In  time  will  come  thy  way. 


48 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


THE  MARCH'S  PROMISE 

When  gray  clouds  break  on  southern  skies 
And  winds  of  March  begin  to  blow, 

Our  fancies  run  to  Summer  sighs, 
That  whisper  and  delight  us  so. 

For  in  this  stormy  month  of  winds 
The  first  new  pulse  of  life  is  felt, 

When  Spring  with  all  her  sweets  begins 
Where  Winter's  ice  and  snow  have  dwelt. 

The  bluebird  carols  out  his  note, 
A  prelude  to  the  country  'round 

Of  chimes,  a  few  more  days  remote, 
To  which  the  forest  will  resound. 

The  plowman's  song,  the  forest  chime, 
The  upturned  sod,  the  country  scene, 

Bespeak  a  resurrection  time 

In  air,  sky,  and  sprouting  green. 

O,  blessed  hope  of  life  anew! 

That  comes  from  death  when  Spring  begins ; 
Life  after  death,  a  promise  true, 

Is  brought  in  March's  stormy  winds. 


49 


THE    PATH     OF    DREAMS 


A  MEADOW-LAND. 

Delight  of  keen  delights  in  Summer  hours, 

Is  this  long  meadowy  scene, 
All  rioting  in  festival  of  flowers 

And  pageantry  of  green, 
With  smiling  skies  above  and  Summer  blue, 
With  ancient  fields  below,  yet  ever  new. 

Thou  mindest  me  of  other  scenes  and  days, 

In  sunnier  climes  than  thine, 
Of  mocking  birds  and  ever  piping  lays, 

Of  figs  and  muscadine, 
Of  dreamy  afternoons  and  dreamy  love 
In  silent  bliss,  with  southern  skies  above. 

Dear  meadow-lands,  it  makes  me  sigh  to  know 

That  this  fair  scene  must  die, 
And  sleep  long  months  beneath  the  frost  and  snow, 

And  inhospitable  sky ; 

And  yet  why  should  I  sigh  and  yield  to  pain, 
Since  all  thy  loveliness  will  bloom  again? 

For  long  before  the  red  men  trod  thy  soil, 

Or  white  men  came  to  till 
Thy  blooming  waste,  and  crown  with  patient  toil 

Surrounding  vale  and  hill, 
All  rioting  with  gleeful,  vagrant  flowers 
Wert  thou  in  bloom,  through  long  and  sunny  hours. 

50 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


'Tis  mine  to  lie  beneath  a  changeless  snow, 

How  sad  to  me  the  truth, 
But  thine  to  sleep  awhile,  and  wake  to  know 

A  gay  immortal  youth. 

For  thou,  when  I  back  to  the  dust  have  gone, 
With  festive  face,  will  still  be  smiling  on. 


IN  SUMMER 

The  Summer  shimmering  to-day 

Puts  on  the  earth  a  rune, 
Which  blends  in  magic  waves  of  light, 

Beneath  the  sky  of  June. 

Along  the  pavements  of  the  street, 

And  in  the  crowded  mart, 
There  is  a  joy  of  Summer-time, 

A  comforting  of  heart. 

To-day  one  hardly  can  believe, 
Along  these  pavements  old, 

That  March  held  such  an  icy  sway 
Of  bitterness  and  cold. 

The  little  gamin  of  the  street, 
Full  keeping  with  the  boy, 

Forgetting  all  his  Winter  woes, 
Is  hallooing  for  joy. 

51 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


And  I  go  back  to  youth  again, 

And  get  myself  away, 
To  where  the  country  fields  are  in 

The  green  and  blue  of  May. 

And  on  I  sweetly  glide  with  them, 

With  changing  song  and  tune. 
With  bursting  buds  and  brilliant  dyes, 

That  line  the  lap  of  June. 

The  morning  trembles  with  its  throbs 

Of  ever-gushing  notes, 
Which  pour  with  shuddering  sweetness  from 

A  thousand  feathered  throats. 

'Tis  true  the  shadows  of  four  walls 

Are  ever  on  me  cast, 
But  they  have  a  transparency 

To  me  of  a  sweet  past. 


52 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


IN  MEMORY  OF  KATIE  REYNOLDS, 
DYING. 

O  Death! 
If  thou  hath  aught  of  tenderness, 

Be  kindly  in  thy  touch 
Of  her  whose  fragile  slenderness 

Was  overburdened  much 
With  life.     And  let  her  seem  to  go  to  sleep, 

As  often  does  a  tired  child,  when  it  has  grown 
Too  tired  to  longer  weep. 

A  rose  but  half  in  bloom- 
She  is  too  young  and  beautiful  to  die, 

But  yet,  if  she  must  go, 
Let  her  go  out  as  goes  a  sigh 

From  tired  life  and  woe. 
And  let  her  keep,  in  death's  brief  space 

This  side  the  grave,  the  dusky  beauty  still 
Belonging  to  her  face. 

She  must  have  been 
Of  those  upon  the  trembling  lyre 

Of  whom  the  poets  sung ; 
"Whom  the  gods  love"  and  desire 

Fade  and  "die  young." 
Her  life  so  loved  on  earth  was  brief, 

But  yet  withal  so  beautiful  there  is  no  cause, 
But  in  our  loss,  for  grief. 

53 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


LINES  TO  MOUNT  GLEN 

In  this  soft  air  perfumed  with  blooming  May, 

Stretched  at  thy  feet  on  the  green  grass,  Old  Glen, 

It  is  a  joy  unspeakable  to  me 

To  see  again  thy  face  and  friendly  crags. 

My  childhood  friend,  then  height  of  heights  to  me, 

I  am  come  home  to  worship  thee  once  more, 

And  feel  that  bliss  in  indolent  repose 

Of  those  long  past  delightful  afternoons, 

When  first  you  smiled  on  me  and  gave  to  my 

Imaginings  such  imagery,  when  I 

Would  lie  down  at  thy  base  as  I 

Do  now.     My  feet  have  wandered  far  since  then, 

And  over  heights  with  prouder  heads  than  thine, 

Such  as  would  name  thy  majesty  with  hills. 

But  I,  Old  Glen,  my  early  mountain  friend, 

Am  come  with  loyalty  and  heart  still  true 

As  thy  bald  crags  are  to  their  kindred  skijs. 

My  own  Olympus  yet  and  pride  thou  art, 

With  thy  Thessalian  gates  of  clouds 

Which  hide  the  great  Olympian  Hall, 

Where  Hebe  still  sweet  nectar  pours 

Out  to  the  gods.     And  murmurs  sweet  and  low, 

Of  melting  cadences,  Apollo  from 

His  magic  lyre  sends  gently  wandering 

In  soft  succeeding  measures,  yet  in  air 

To  me. 


54 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


And  yet,  Old  Glen, 
A  stranger  at  thy  base  I  lie  to-day 
To  all  but  thee,  save  this  soft  yielding  grass 
And  blooming  waste,  thy  pageantry  of  flowers. 
All  these,  with  yon  bald  eagle  circling  in 
The  upper  air  with  keen  descrying  for 
Some  timorous,  skulking  hare,  are  but  old  friends 
Who  laughed  and  played  with  me  in  childhood  hours 
Full  many  a  Summer  day,  and  told  me  tales 
Of  fairy  lore.     With  such  immortal  friends 
To  welcome  me  again,  what  care  I  then 
For  yon  rude  plowman's  stare  and  taking  me 
For  some  trespassing  rake?     This  broad  domain 
Of  circling  hills  and  intervening  vales 
Is  thine  by  ancient  rights  to  shelter  me, 
And  take  me  in  thy  lap  when  I  have  come, 
With  love,  to  worship  thee.     Before  Rome  was, 
Or  Greece  had  sprung  with  poetry  and  art, 
Thy  majesty  with  impartiality 
Was  here.     The  first  soft  tread  of  moccasin 
On  Indian  feet,  in  ages  none  can  tell, 
That  bent  this  yielding  grass  was  thine  to  hear. 
And  all  the  sons  of  men  who  since  have  brought 
Their  pulsing  hearts  to  thee  with  loves,  with  aches, 
With  tragedies,  with  childhood  innocence, 
Have  had  thy  welcoming.     To  thee  no  race 
May  come  with  arrogance  and  claim  first  right 
To  thy  magnificence,  and  mighty  heart, 
And  thy  ennobling  grace  that  touches  every 
Soul  who  may  commune  with  thee. 

55 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


And  so 

It  was  Old  Glen  we  came  at  first  to  love 
In  this  soft  scented  air  now  long  ago, 
When  first  I  brought  my  youthful  heart  to  thee, 
All  pure  with  pulsing  blood  still  hot 
In  its  descent  of  years  in  tropic  suns 
And  sands  of  Africa,  to  be  caressed 
By  thee.     And  to  your  lofty  heights  you  bore 
Me  up  to  see  the  boundless  world  beyond, 
Which  nothing  then  to  my  young  innocence 
Had  aught  of  evil  or  deceptive  paths. 
With  maddening  haste  I  quit  thy  friendly  side 
To  mix  with  men.     And  then  as  some  young  bison 
Of  the  plain,  which  breathes  the  morning  air 
And  restless  snorts  with  mad  excess  of  life, 
And  rushes  heedless  on  in  hot  pursuit 
Of  what  it  does  not  know:  So  I,  Old  Glen, 
As  heedlessly  went  out  from  thee  to  meet 
With  buffeting,  with  hates,  and  selfishness, 
And  scorn.     At  first  I  stood  abashed,  disarmed 
Of  faith.     Too  soon  I  learned  the  ways  of  men, 
Forgetting  much  I  wish  I  had  retained 
Of  once  a  better  life.     And  in  the  fret 
And  fever  of  the  endless  strife  for  gain 
I  often  sigh  for  thee,  my  native  peaks, 
And  for  that  early  life  for  me  now  past 
Forevermore. 


56 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


But  for  one  day,  my  early  friend, 
I  am  come  back  to  thee  again,  to  feel 
Thy  gentle  grace  so  indefinable, 
So  subtle  is  thy  touch,  yet  to  the  heart 
A  never-failing  gift  to  all  who  come 
To  thee.     And  so  it  is,  Old  Glen,  that  I  am  come, 
But  not  with  all-believing  innocence 
As  in  those  unsuspecting  days  of  yore. 
And  O!  Mount  Glen,  sin-stained  my  burning  heart 
With  shame  lifts  up  its  face  to  thine,  but  with 
A  love  as  changeless  as  thy  ancient  crags 
Does  it  still  beat  for  thee.     And  I  rejoice 
To  feel  thy  mighty  heart  here  solace  mine. 
For  when  the  day  leads  in  the  early  dawn 
With  blushing  rosy  light  and  caroling 
Of  larks;  and  sleepy  flowers  half  unclosed, 
All  wet  with  dew,  unfold  their  buds  and  leaves, 
There  is  enchantment  in  this  lovely  spot 
Beyond,  by  far,  all  mortal  utterances. 
To  come  here  then  and  lie  down  on  thy  side, 
As  I  do  now,  and  see  the  butterflies 
Bobbing  from  flower  to  flower,  and  hear 
The  restless  songs  of  birds  as  they  in  joy 
Flit  carelessly  from  bush  and  tree,  is  all 
The  bliss  my  heart  could  ask.     Here  I  could  He 
In  such  repose  and  let  a  lifetime  pass. 
And  here,  Old  Glen,  could  I  forget  the  fret 
Of  life  and  selfishness  of  men,  and  see 
The  face  of  him  who  is  all  beautiful. 


57 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


And  here  in  this  perfume  of  May,  and  bloom 
Luxuriant,  and  friendly  rioting 
Of  green  in  all  this  blooming  waste,  is  seen 
A  glimpse  of  that  which  He,  the  Lord  of  all, 
Intended  there  should  be  with  things  and  men 
In  all  this  earth,  a  thing  which  yet  will  be, 
A  universal  brotherhood. 


58 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


The  legend  of  Tannhauser  and  Elizabeth  lends  itself 
readily  to  a  story  more  human  than  any  other  of  the 
Wagner-opera  legends.  The  restlessness  of  Tann 
hauser  which  leads  him  into  such  ultimate  misfortune, 
and  Elizabeth's  undying  love  and  devotion  to  him,  are 
exhibitions  of  pathos  and  tragedy  instinct  with  human 
life.  The  dethronement  of  Venus  by  the  acceptance 
of  Christianity  throughout  the  world,  by  which  she 
was  robbed  of  her  divinity,  and  relegated  to  the 
realms  of  the  lower  world  to  become  a  sorceress,  is 
not  less  sorrowful  than  that  of  the  sorrowful  Elizabeth. 
Venus,  the  goddess  of  love  and  beauty,  was,  accord 
ing  to  the  more  ancient  Greek  conception,  a  daughter 
of  Jupiter  and  Dione;  but  Hesiod  says  that  she  arose 
from  the  sea  at  the  time  of  the  wounding  of  Uranus 
and  was  therefore  called  by  the  Greeks,  Aphrodite, 
the  foam-born.  Wafted  by  the  west  wind  she  was 
borne  to  the  island  of  Cytherea,  and  afterward,  like  a 
dream,  she  passed  to  Cypress,  where  the  grace  of  her 
beauty  conquered  every  heart.  She  at  once  became 
the  goddess  of  love  and  beauty,  the  goddess  of  gardens 
and  flowers,  of  the  rose,  the  myrtle  and  the  linden. 
The  heaths  and  slumberous  vales,  pleasant  with  Spring 
and  the  vernal  breezes,  were  her's.  She  was  the  mis 
tress  of  feminine  charm  and  beauty,  and  ruled  the 
hearts  of  men.  Driven  from  her  ancient  kingdom, 
from  the  sunshine  and  the  flowers  of  the  upper 
world,  it  is  no  wonder  that  her  heart  grew  hard,  that 
we  find  her  the  wicked  enchantress  and  sorceress  that 
she  is  in  the  Venusburg,  situated  in  the  German  valley 
of  Thuringia. 

59 


THE     PATH    OF    DREAMS 


The  version  of  the  legend  of  Tannhauser  here  given 
at  the  end  is  a  liberty  taken,  but  it  seemed  to  me  in 
consistent  after  his  chastening  to  have  him  consider  a 
return  to  the  Venusburg. 

G.  M.  McClellan. 


60 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


THE  LEGEND  OF  TANNHAUSER  AND 
ELIZABETH. 

I 
THE  VENUSBURG 

In  Germany  the  fabled  Venusburg 

A  broad  and  fertile  valley  overlooked, 

In  fair  Thuringia.     The  winds  blew  free 

Along  the  mountain  slopes,  where  shepherds  watched 

Their  sheep,  and  played  upon  their  pipes  in  sweet 

Contentment  all  the  day,  beneath  the  blue 

And  arching  sky.     And  in  the  valley  rang 

Often  the  cheery  cry  of  noble  knights 

And  jovial  hunting  parties  on  their  way 

To  visit  Wartburg  castle,  in  which  dwelt 

The  Landgrave,  Herman,  and  his  men-at-arms, 

And  his  brave  knights  of  fair  Thuringia. 

And  with  him  dwelt  his  niece,  Elizabeth, 

The  princess  of  the  realm.     The  minstrel  knights 

And  nobles,  skilled  in  voice  and  on  the  harp, 

Were  wont  to  gather  in  the  Landgrave's  hall 

And  there  contest  in  song.     In  this  fine  art 

The  sweetest  singer  of  Thuringia 

Was  young  Tannhauser,  who,  by  his  fair  face 

And  wondrous  melodies  in  song,  had  won 

The  heart  of  proud  Elizabeth.     And  yet 

This  noble  knight  was  dreamy  in  his  mood 

And  restless  in  his  life,  dissatisfied, 

And  longed  for  change  and  new  experiences. 

61 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


And  in  this  dreamy  mood,  with  harp  in  hand, 

He  passed,  one  day,  the  grotto  of  the  Venusburg. 

The  great  enchantress  of  this  fateful  place 

Put  forth  her  magic  spells  and  drew  him  on. 

And  when  Tannhauser  raised  his  eyes  he  saw 

A  country  beautiful  and  strangely  new. 

As  through  a  doorway  seen,  there  flitted  through 

The  gleaming,  ever-changing,  rose-hued  mist 

A  countless  throng  of  figures  beautiful. 

And  heavy-headed  flowers  sent  to  him 

Their  all-compelling  perfume  through  the  air. 

And  far  away  he  saw  the  misty  lakes 

Of  magic  blue.     The  sound  of  music  came  to  him, 

So  strangely  sweet  it  almost  gave  him  pain 

To  hear.     And  in  the  midst  of  all  there  stood 

The  great  enchantress,  smiling,  beckoning  him 

To  come.     So  great  her  spell,  he  moved  as  in  a  dream, 

Into  the  grotto  passed,  and  fancied  that 

He  heard  a  heavy  door  behind  him  clang. 

For  one  long  year,  with  ever  changing  scenes, 

Tannhauser  stayed  within  the  Venusburg 

And  thought  that  he  was  happy  there.     The  change 

In  shifting  scenes,  the  wild  bacchantes,  and 

The  nymphs  in  mimic  war,  in  graceful  dance, 

Afforded  for  his  ever  restless  soul 

The  wild  excitement  which  he  craved.     And  for 

His  softer  moods  the  chording  voices  of 

The  sirens  satisfied.     He  breathed  the  scent 

Of  flowers  wondrous  sweet,  and  watched  at  times 

62 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


Dissolving  mist-wreaths  as  they  faded  out 

Their  rosy  hues.     With  Venus  long  he  sat 

At  other  times,  and  more  and  more  she  wove 

Her  spells  which  bound  him  fast  to  her.     She  taught 

To  him  her  songs  of  love,  which  he  before 

Had  never  heard,  and  dazzled  by  her  charms 

He  worshipped  her  as  did  the  world  of  old 

When  she  was  grand  and  true  and  gave 

The  gift  of  noble  love  to  all  humanity. 

Tannhauser,  now  enthralled  by  magic  spells, 

Had  long  forgotten  all  his  former  life  — 

His  friends,  his  love  for  fair  Elizabeth, 

His  love  for  God,  for  Christ  and  righteousness, 

And  all  the  good  and  true  which  come  to  man 

By  sacrifice  and  overcoming  sin 

Were  banished  from  his  mind,  so  lost  was  he 

To  all  the  life  within  the  Venusburg. 

And  yet,  the  restless  nature  of  his  soul 
That  led  him  into  sin  was  destined  to 
Arouse  him  to  his  lost  estate.     One  day 
Tannhauser  felt  himself  awake  once  more. 
He  fancied  that  he  heard  the  clanging  peals 
Of  church  bells  far  away,  and  through  his  mind 
There  struggled  back  the  long  forgotten  life; 
The  sun,  the  friendly  glimmer  of  the  stars, 
The  song  of  nightingales,  the  morning  light, 
The  freshness  of  the  earth,  the  skies  above, 
In  memory  came  rushing  through  his  mind. 
In  wild  appeal  to  Venus  now  he  cried: 

63 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


"Are  these  things  lost  to  me?"     And,  rising  from 

Her  couch,  with  quick  though  mild  rebuke  she  bade 

Him  call  to  mind  for  her  a  scene  less  sad, 

For  she  remembered  well  the  world  from  which 

She  was  dethroned  and  basely  relegated  to 

This  under-realm.     Tannhauser,  now  aroused, 

Felt  all  his  restlessness,  and  would  not  be 

Denied.     In  vain  she  wove  about  him  now 

Her  magic  spells.     Tannhauser  pleaded  for 

Releasement  from  her  power,  to  live  again 

His  former  life,  to  know  the  natural  joys, 

The  sorrows  and  the  common  things  of  earth. 

In  wrath  she  charged  him  with  ingratitude 

To  her  for  all  the  lavished  joys  which  she 

Had  given  him.     But  when  she  saw  in  vain 

Her  wrath  affected  him,  in  softer  tones 

She  promised  him  more  perfect  joys,  and  things 

More  beautiful.     And  while  she  spoke  there  came 

From  over  all  the  dim  blue  lakes  the  soft 

Caressing  voices  of  the  sirens  in 

Their  wondrous  harmonies.     "My  knight,"  she  cried, 

"Why  will  you  fly?"     With  stormy  passion  moved, 

Tannhauser  seized  his  harp  and  smote  the  strings, 

And  sang  in  mighty  voice.     He  pledged  to  sing 

When  in  the  upper  world,  of  Venus  and 

Her  praise  alone,  but  to  that  upper  world 

He  now  must  go.     The  great  enchantress  saw 

Her  power  on  him  now  was  gone,  and  bade  him  go. 

Then  in  a  moment  flashed  away  from  him 

The  Venusburg  and  all  its  wondrous  spells; 

64 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


And,  stretched  full  length  upon  the  mountain  side, 

Tannhauser  found  himself  too  weak  to  rise 

Up  from  the  grassy  slope  at  first.     Confused 

In  mind,  up  to  the  wide  blue  sky  he  gazed, 

While  slowly  came  to  him  the  memory 

Of  all  his  former  life,  the  bitter  truth 

Of  sin  in  going  to  the  Venusburg. 

And  from  the  pasture  lands  below  he  heard 

The  sheep  bells,  where  the  peaceful  shepherd  lad 

Lay  playing  on  his  pipes,  and  pausing  now  and  then 

To  sing  a  song  to  Holda,  goddess  of 

The  Spring.     Across  the  quiet  valley  came 

The  sounds  of  hunting  horns,  the  baying  of 

The  hunting  pack  with  full  excitement  for 

The  chase,  and  stirred  the  lonely  knight  upon 

The  mountain  side  to  full  activity. 

And  soon  the  Landgrave  and  five  minstrel  knights 

Drew  near  and  recognized  Tannhauser,  and 

With  words  of  welcome  and  much  kindness  asked 

Where  he  had  been.     "I  wandered  in  strange  lands,' 

Tannhauser  said.     "I  pray  you  question  not, 

But  let  me  pass."     The  Landgrave  saw  his  mood 

And  courteously  forbore  to  further  press 

And  question  him,  but  pointed  out  how  sad 

Had  been  the  princess,  fair  Elizabeth, 

In  his  long  absence  from  the  hall,  and  asked 

That  he  should  join  the  coming  revels  of 

The  minstrelsy  of  song  in  Wartburg  Hall. 

With  gladness  in  his  heart  he  promised  to 

Attend.     And  now  the  heavens  seemed  to  smile 

65 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


A  pardon  down  on  him,  and  sweet  the  wind 

Blew  softly  on  his  face.     "Elizabeth,"  he  said. 

The  murmur  of  her  name  a  sense  of  peace 

And  freedom  brought  to  him.     And  now  once  more 

He  humbly  prayed  to  God  that  he  might  be 

Forgiven  for  his  sin,  and  find  a  peace 

Of  heart,  and  full  acceptance  in  His  sight. 


II 

THE  CONTEST  OF  SONG  AND  LOVE 

The  Landgrave's  gilded  hall  was  all  bedecked 

In  preparation  for  the  minstrel  knights 

Who  would  contest  in  skill  upon  the  harp. 

Though  named  were  all  contestants  long  before, 

Tannhauser's  name  was  added  to  the  list 

In  recognition  of  his  marvelous  skill 

And,  too,  in  honor  of  his  coming  home. 

Before  the  minstrel  hour  the  princess,  fair 

Elizabeth,  came  in  the  hall  to  feast 

Her  eyes  upon  the  place  where,  long  before, 

Tannhauser's  harp  and  voice  awoke  her  heart 

To  such  fond  sympathy  and  ardent  love. 

When  now  at  last  he  had  returned  her  heart 

Was  beating  fast  with  its  tumultous  joy, 

And  scarcely  could  await  the  hour  when  she 

Could  see  her  noble  knight  and  hear  his  voice  again. 


66 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


At  last  the  hour  arrived,  and  to  the  hall 

The  princess  came.     Her  white,  soft  draperies, 

Embroidered  in  rich  colors,  fell  around 

Her  graceful  form  in  many  folds,  and  on 

Her  brow  a  crown  of  fretted  gold  proclaimed 

Thuringia's  princess,  fair  Elizabeth. 

She  was  of  northern  birth,  in  coloring 

Was  fair,  and  had  the  clear  blue  eyes  with  which 

The  daughters  of  the  cold  and  far  north  skies 

So  often  are  endowed.     And  for  her  hand 

The  prince,  brave  knights  and  nobles  from  afar, 

Came  suing  ardently.     To  all  of  whom 

She  was  unfailing  kind,  but  ever  proud, 

And  cold  and  stately  in  her  pride,  the  pride 

In  generations  of  her  noble  blood. 

One  knight  alone  had  touched  her  heart,  and  while 

He  was  away  she  turned  her  back  upon 

The  gayeties  of  the  realm.     But  once  again, 

Now  that  he  had  returned,  her  spirit  thrilled 

With  quickened  heartbeats  of  her  happiness, 

And  sent  its  sparkling  gleams  to  her  blue  eyes. 

Into  the  minstrel  hall  the  noble  knights 
Came,  bearing  each  his  harp.     Elizabeth 
In  queenly  beauty  stood  with  welcome  smiles, 
But  yet  with  searching  eyes  for  one  above 
All  other  knights.     He  came,  by  Wolfram  led, 
In  through  a  doorway  at  the  side.     "Ah,  there 
She  is, — the  princess,"  Wolfram  softly  said, 
And  turned  away,  upon  a  pillar  leaned 

67 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


All  richly  carved,  and  fixed  his  gaze  upon 
The  quiet  beauty  of  the  vale  without. 
"O!  princess  fair!"  he  heard  Tannhauser  cry, 
And  then  her  voice,  with  love,  which  softly  said, 
"You  must  not  kneel  to  me."     He  heard  no  more, 
Save  now  and  then  a  word,  a  phrase  which  filled 
His  heart  with  cold  despair,  for  Wolfram,  too, 
The  princess  loved,  but  in  his  noble  heart — 
His  heart  as  noble  as  his  name — he  now 
Relinquished  all  his  hopes  for  those  he  loved, 
And  who  would  find  their  joy  in  mutual  love. 

The  Landgrave,  smiling,  came  into  the  hall, 

And  in  her  joy  Elizabeth  herself 

Threw  in  his  arms,  so  great  her  happiness. 

Together  mounted  they  the  royal  seat 

To  wait  the  coming  of  the  knights  and  guests, 

All  bidden  to  the  feast  of  love  and  song. 

Four  pages  called  the  guests  as  they  arrived ; 

The  Landgrave,  with  all  stately  courtesy, 

The  princess,  with  the  utmost  graciousness, 

Made  welcome  there  the  knights  and  all  the  guests, 

Arrayed  in  rich  medieval  dress.     There  stood 

Behind  them  all  the  men-at-arms ;  also 

The  Landgrave's  brave  retainers  lined  the  wall. 

The  swinging  lamps  revealed  the  columns  rich 

In  carving.     When  the  guests  had  all  arrived, 

The  Landgrave  stood  and  said  the  contest  was 

Of  love  in  song,  and  he  who  won  should  have 

The  hand  of  fair  Elizabeth,  he  pledged ; 

68 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


Not  doubting  once  that  he  would  win  in  song 
Who  had  already  won  Elizabeth 
In  ardent  love.     "All  hail !  Thuringia's  lord !" 
The  minstrels  cried  in  greeting  to  his  speech. 

Then  came  deep  silence  as  the  pages  passed 
The  golden  cup  in  which  each  minstrel  dropped 
A  folded  slip  of  paper  with  his  name. 
Then  from  the  golden  cup  Elizabeth 
Drew  out  a  name  and  gave  it  to  the  page 
Who  raised  his  voice  and  cried, 
"Herr  Wolfram  Eschenbach  in  song  begin." 
Upon  his  feet  Von  Eschenbach  arose 
And  to  his  harp's  soft  rippling  cadences 
Began  to  sing :  first  of  brave  knights  and  to 
Fair  ladies  present  in  the  hall.     Then  to 
Elizabeth  his  pent-up  soul  in  song 
Poured  out  the  mighty  passion  of  his  love. 
He  sang  in  noble  fervor  to  the  star 
Of  love  embodied  in  the  princess  fair. 
Applause  from  all  the  guests  and  minstrels  rang 
Save  from  Tannhauser,  seeming  lost  in  dreams, 
From  which  he  did  not  rouse  until  the  page 
Announced  his  name  as  next  upon  the  slip 
Drawn  by  the  princess  from  the  golden  cup. 

He  took  his  harp,  but  hardly  knowing  what 
He  did,  for  wild  excitement  seized  his  mind. 
Once  more  rose-colored  mists  before  his  eyes 
Arose,  and  voices  whispered  in  his  ears. 

69 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


He  stood  as  blind,  with  throbbing  heart,  and  swayed 

As  sways  an  oak  with  storm  and  tempest  tossed. 

"I,  too,  have  seen  the  fount  of  love,"  he  cried, 

And  then  his  vow,  back  in  the  Venusburg: 

That  Venus,  when  he  sang,  should  be  his  theme, 

Enchained  his  memory.     He  smote  his  harp 

And  sang  with  stormy  music  till  the  roof 

With  praise  of  Venus  rang.     Still  higher  rose 

His  voice  in  eulogy  of  fairest,  then, 

Of  all  enchantresses.     At  last  he  flung 

Away  his  harp  and  cried,  "I  fly,  I  fly 

Back  to  the  Venusburg."     Entranced,  transfixed, 

He  stood,  his  harp  unnoticed  at  his  feet. 

In  horror-stricken  tones  the  nobles  cried, 
"Hear  him!  Hear  him!  So  to  the  Venusburg 
This  wandering  knight  has  been.     Press  forward,  all, 
And  in  his  blood  bathe  every  sword."     With  cries 
The  ladies  hastened  from  the  hall,  save  fair 
Elizabeth,  who  stood  there  shuddering 
Betwixt  her  horror  and  her  mighty  love. 
Increased  the  clamor  and  the  great  tumult 
From  every  side  as  came  the  cry,  "Kill  him!" 
And,  pressing  on,  the  nobles  drew  their  swords 
To  do  their  deadly  work.    "Brave  knights,  stop"  cried 
Elizabeth;  "Or  else  kill  me.     Stand  back!" 
Her  tones  were  full  of  mingled  love  and  deep 
Despair,  and  yet  surcharged  with  dignity 
And  stern  command.     The  nobles  all  fell  back, 
Amazed  to  see  their  princess  shield  a  wretch 

70 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


As  was  Tannhauser  now.     Her  voice  all  full 
Of  piteous  tragedy  continued  in 

Her  plea :  '  'What  is  the  wounds  your  swords  could  give 
To  this  death-stroke  which  has  been  dealt  to  me?" 
The  nobles  cried,  "This  fallen  and  false  knight 
You  should  be  first  indeed  to  scorn."     She  said, 
"Why  do  you  speak  of  me?     Of  this  poor  knight, 
Of  him  and  his  salvation,  you  should  speak. 
This  knight,  by  dreadful  magic  bound,  can  yet, 
Through  sorrow  and  repentance,  break  his  chains, 
And  win  forgiveness  from  the  pitying  Lord. 
I  plead  for  him,  for  his  dear  life  I  plead." 

Tannhauser,  softened  by  her  pleading  words 
And  his  own  deep  remorse,  bowed  low  his  head 
And  wept.     The  knights,  now  softened  by  his  grief, 
More  gently  spoke,  but  still  in  deep  reproach. 
At  last  the  Landgrave  spoke  with  kindness  and 
Command,  the  course  Tannhauser  must  pursue, 
Because  around  him  clung  the  magic  spells 
And  dark  enchantment  lingered  in  his  heart. 
He  must  go  forth  and  not  return  again 
To  fair  Thuringia  till  his  soul  was  free 
From  all  the  spells  of  Venus.     He  advised 
Tannhauser  to  unite  himself  with  pilgrims, 
Then  setting  out  for  Rome  to  seek  the  Pope 
And  pray  for  pardon  for  their  sins.     And  while 
He  talked  there  came  from  far  without  the  chant 
Of  voices  sweet  and  low,  which  brought  a  peace 
And  gentle  rest  into  the  minstrel  hall, 

71 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


Which  short  before  with  strife  and  tumult  rang. 

Tannhauser  heard  the  chant ;  with  rising  hope 

And  with  a  sudden  impulse  rose  and  said, 

"I  go  to  Rome."     "To  Rome!"  the  nobles  cried. 

The  nobles,  Landgrave  and  Elizabeth, 

All  cried  with  one  loud  voice  to  speed  him  on 

From  the  great  doorway  of  the  Hall,  "To  Rome!" 


Ill 

THE  PILGRIMAGE  AND  STAFF 

Now  full  of  hope  and  deep  repentance  too, 

Tannhauser  hastened  on  his  pilgrimage 

To  Rome.     The  road  was  long  and  rough  and  full 

Of  weariness,  with  none  to  aid  him  save 

His  staff.     But  his  own  deep  remorse,  also 

His  reborn  faith  in  God,  his  reverent  love 

Now  for  Elizabeth  made  easy  all  the  way. 

When  other  pilgrims  through  the  meadows  went 

And  sought  the  gentle  paths,  he  turned  aside 

To  bruise  his  feet  in  thorns  and  stony  ways. 

The  wayside  streams  he  passed  and  bore  his  thirst. 

In  silence  and  contrition  pressing  on, 

He  filled  his  mind  with  hope  and  noble  thoughts 

Of  future  deeds  and  life  all  free  from  sin. 

At  last  when  many  days  were  passed  he  came 
To  Rome.     The  bells  were  pealing  forth  in  joy, 
And  anthems  filled  the  air  in  promise  of 

72 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


The  pardons  for  the  weary  pilgrim  band, 

As  one  by  one  they  sought  the  presence  of  the  Pope 

And  from  him  found  the  full  assurance  of 

Forgiveness  for  their  sins.     Then  came  at  last 

Tannhauser's  turn.     In  deep  repentance  now 

He  humbly  knelt  and  told  of  all  his  sin : 

The  Venusburg,  its  dark  and  evil  spells, 

His  wasted  year,  his  fearful  seizure  in 

The  minstrel  hall.     For  mercy  now  he  begged 

The  Pope,  and  from  enchantment  to  be  freed. 

But  sternly  spoke  his  papal  lord,  "If  you 

Have  been  into  the  Venusburg,  and  there 

Enchanted  by  its  magic  powers  and  spells, 

You  will  succumb  again,  and  you  may  hope 

For  God's  forgiveness  when,  my  staff  puts  forth 

Green  leaves."     Struck  dumb  with  grief  and  deep 

despair 

Tannhauser  staggered  forth.     In  hopelessness 
He  fell  upon  the  ground  and  wished  for  death. 
At  last  when  he  arose,  the  pilgrim  band 
Had  passed  its  way  toward  home,  and  from  afar 
Its  chorus  of  thanksgiving  faintly  reached 
His  ears.     Tannhauser  took  his  staff,  alone 
To  wander  on  he  knew  not  where,  bereft 
Of  consolation,  and  of  hope  and  love. 

And  far,  far  away  in  secret  prayed 
Elizabeth  in  agonizing  love 
To  God  that  He  might  save  Tannhauser's  soul, 
And  bring  him  back  to  her  from  magic  powers 

73 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


Redeemed.     The  year  passed  on  and  bringing  near 

The  time  the  pilgrims  must  return  from  Rome. 

Elizabeth  more  anxious  grew ;  there  spread 

Upon  her  face  a  greater  sign  of  fear 

And  growing  sadness,  which  Von  Eschenbach 

Was  quick  to  see.     He  sought  to  comfort  her 

With  gentle  words,  and  unobtrusive  love, 

And  ever  watchful  care.     Elizabeth 

Was  grateful  for  his  deep  solicitude 

And  love,  but  could  not  give  him  love  for  love. 

Thus,  day  by  day,  down  to  the  Virgin's  shrine, 

Where  passed  the  pilgrims  on  their  road  from  Rome, 

She  came  to  pray,  until  one  day  there  came 

Upon  the  wind  the  echo  of  a  song 

Which  she  well  knew.     "It  is  their  song,"  she  cried 

With  heart  half  bursting  with  its  hope  and  fear, 

Its  pent-up  agony  and  love.     She  strained 

Her  eyes  to  see  the  coming  pilgrim  band, 

And  of  the  band  the  pilgrim  whom  she  loved. 

Still  onward  came  the  pilgrims  as  they  sang 

Triumphantly  of  God — His  mighty  love, 

And  His  forgiveness  of  their  sins.     And  they, 

Unseeing,  passed  her  by  while  she  saw  them, 

But  saw  not  with  them  that  dear  pilgrim  face 

She  sought.     "No  more  will  he  return,"  she  said, 

And,  with  the  wound  of  death  upon  her  face, 

She  sought  the  palace  hall  to  wait  and  die. 

For  die  she  must,  she  knew,  without  his  love. 

To  see  his  face  no  more ;  to  hear  his  voice 

No  more ;  was  more  than  she  could  bear  and  live. 

74 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


A  few  more  days  were  passed  so  quietly 
None  in  the  palace  thought  Elizabeth 
Was  near  the  end  of  life,  or  that  her  grief 
And  love  were  yet  so  great  that  she  must  die. 
They  thought  her  youth  would  yet  assert  itself 
And  time  would  bring  a  solace  to  her  love, 
And  heal  her  broken  heart.     But  scarcely  was 
The  sun  up  from  the  glowing  East  when  she 
One  morning  called  the  Landgrave  to  her  bed, 
And  all  the  household  dear,  and  bade  tham  all, 
A  last  farewell.     And  while  they  wept  for  her 
She  closed  her  eyes  and  died.     So  gently  did 
She  pass  she  seemed  as  one  who  slept. 
And  then  Elizabeth  was  laid  to  rest 
With  swelling  music,  and  with  holy  mass, 
And  gorgeous  obsequies  becoming  to 
Her  princely  race  and  noble  line  of  kings. 

Wolfram  von  Eschenbach  stood  on  a  hill 

One  day  above  the  shrine  more  sacred  now 

To  him  because  in  prayer  Elizabeth 

Had  knelt  so  often  there.     The  twilight  hour 

Came  on  and  brightly  shone  the  evening  star, 

And  as  he  watched  he  felt  as  if  it  were 

The  shining  spirit  of  Elizabeth. 

He  struck  his  harp  and  softly  sang  a  song 

In  which  he  made  the  lovely  evening  star 

In  its  soft  radiance  to  symbolize 

Elizabeth  in  purity  and  love. 

And,  while  he  sang,  he  saw  in  ragged  garb 


75 


THE    PATH    OF    DREAMS 


A  pilgrim  leaning  hard  upon  his  staff 
As  he  approached,  and  on  his  haggard  face 
The  marks  of  deep  despair  and  hopelessness. 
And  when  the  pilgrim  spoke  he  recognized 
Tannhauser,  whom  he  kindly  welcomed  home. 
"Tell  me  the  story  of  your  pilgrimage," 
He  said.     Briefly  Tannhauser  told  him  all, 
And  said,  "When  I  have  seen  Elizabeth 
Once  more,  I  leave  this  valley  never  to 
Return  again."     "Alas,"  Von  Wolfram  said, 
"Elizabeth  is  dead.     She  died  for  you. 
In  daily  prayer  for  you  and  faithful  love, 
She  pined  her  life  away,  and  now  a  saint 
In  heaven  she  pleads  with  everlasting  love 
For  you."     Tannhauser  fell  upon  the  earth 
With  grief  too  much  to  bear.     And  while  he  lay, 
Behold,  swift  messengers  came  from  the  Pope 
And  bore  aloft  the  papal  staff  and  sang 
Of  a  great  marvel  wrought  by  God,  for  now 
The  staff  put  forth  green  leaves  in  token  of 
Tannhauser's  full  redemption  from  his  sins. 
The  evening  star  in  gentle  radiance 
Shone  down  upon  the  pilgrim's  face  at  last 
Reposing  in  the  calm  and  peace  of  death. 


76 


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